


Hesitation

by LittlebutFiery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: 5+1, F/M, proposing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlebutFiery/pseuds/LittlebutFiery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Illya hesitated about proposing to Gaby, and the one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hesitation

The first time Illya realizes he wants to marry Gaby, he’s gripped by panic. He remembers a ten-year-old boy watching as his family imploded around him. He remembers how that boy spent years erecting walls even stronger than the one in Berlin between him and the outside world, challenging anyone to try to get through. 

Then he remembers the tiny German woman that _did_ break through, tearing down his walls with nothing but her smiles and her indomitable spirit and her compassionate heart, and the panic subsides.

It’s replaced with a new kind of fear, the kind of fear that comes from caring with all his heart and wanting everything to be as perfect as the spunky woman he loves.

How would Gaby want to be proposed to?

His first thought is something carefully planned. He thinks of something he saw in a movie once, where a man and a woman are out for a romantic dinner. The man has the waiter bring out a dessert topped with a diamond ring; when the woman sees it, the man begins his carefully prepared speech.

His next thought is that Gaby would hate that. Gaby, his little chop shop girl, has never been one for drama and elaborate plots – not in her personal life, anyway.

Illya tries to push not only his plan but the entire idea from his mind, telling himself that it could never work out anyway.

*

The second time, Illya is watching Gaby flirting with their target, all giggles and fake smiles and batted eyelashes. He’s in the car across the street taking surveillance photos, trying to keep his hands from trembling with anger and jealousy. He craves that look Gaby is giving their target, would do whatever Gaby asked just to see the way she looks when she’s so happy her eyes are shining.

And their target isn’t even trying.

Illya hands the camera to Napoleon, who was dozing in the passenger seat next to him, and gets out of the car. Napoleon scrambles to stop him, thinking that he’s about to go fight their target, but Illya has a different target in mind.

The jewelry shop near their hotel is small but highly regarded, from what Illya has heard. He spends nearly an hour in the shop in intense conversation with the shopkeeper, an older man.

When he leaves, his wallet is significantly lighter, but his pocket is heavy with a tiny velvet box hiding a tiny diamond ring and all the swirling emotions that come with it.

* 

The third time Illya is sure he wants to marry Gaby, he nearly proposes. The two of them are out to dinner alone; Napoleon is off somewhere with some young woman or another.

Gaby looks radiant as always, and this night there’s something particularly gentle and sweet in her eyes. Illya would drown in those eyes if he could, and he’s perfectly content to stare into them until Gaby asks, “Are you all right?”

Illya shakes his head, snapping back to reality. Suddenly, the weight of the little velvet box feels like an anchor in his pocket. He’s carried it with him everywhere since he had bought it on their previous mission. Somehow, it didn’t feel right to leave it in the hotel safe, not when it represented everything he had ever wanted.

His hands tremble against the box, desperately seeking the strength to pull it out of his pocket and press it into Gaby’s little hands and tell her everything he feels.

Instead, he smiles weakly. “Yes, I’m fine.”

* 

The fourth time, Illya is in the hospital. He was tortured halfway to death on a mission and woke up in a hospital in Prague. Gaby and Napoleon are by his side, as always.

Illya’s heart monitor goes haywire as he realizes his clothes are missing, and with them the ring he’s been carrying for four months now. It almost immediately slows down, though, as he remembers that, for whatever reason, he chose to leave the ring in its now-tattered box in the safe in his hotel room.

“You okay, Peril?” Napoleon quips, nodding at the irregular heartbeat up on the monitor’s screen.

“Fine,” Illya croaks.

“I hardly think now is the time to tease him,” Gaby’s voice is harsh and angry from Illya’s other side. Despite himself, Illya smiles. This time, his little chop shop girl is protecting him.

Napoleon is too surprised to make a snarky comment, so he gathers up his newspaper and excuses himself from the room. Gaby takes Illya’s hand in both of her own, rubbing it idly with a thumb.

“How do you feel?” she asks quietly.

Illya wants to reply that he’s never been better than in the hospital bed with Gaby fretting over him, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Like I got hit by truck,” Illya replies. Gaby smiles a little in sympathy, not realizing that it’s intense, unyielding love for her that hit Illya so hard.

*

The fifth time, Illya is with Napoleon, who’s charming a young woman who works for their newest target. He’s acting as Napoleon’s bodyguard, sitting bored at their lunch table listening to the mark babble on and on.

Napoleon is graceful and pleasant and everything Illya knows he isn’t, further driving in the fear that Gaby would never want to marry him. Yes, they began as partners and became something more – but would she want to turn that something more into a permanent bond?

“Illya here is a fantastic dancer,” Napoleon was saying, bringing Illya back to reality.

The woman giggles. “Oh, really?”

“You know what they say about Russians and ballet,” Napoleon winks, eliciting another laugh. Illya grumbles into his coffee until it hits him.

There’s someone he knows he loves ballet, someone who is distinctly not Russian. His jaw drops, prompting Napoleon to ask, “You okay there, Peril?”

“Yes, fine,” Illya replies tersely, his hand clenched around the threadbare box. This time, the weight of all the hopes stored in that little box feel more like the strength of wings lifting him up, instead of an anchor puling him down. Someday, he knows, he will finally have the courage to ask her. And whenever that day arrives, he has his plan, even if the mere thought of having the courage to propose makes him nauseous.

* 

A month later, Gaby walks into the suite she’s sharing with Illya. She can hear the strains of her favorite ballet, _Swan Lake_ , coming from the next room – she must have forgotten to turn off the record player. 

She goes into the living room to turn off the player and instead finds Illya standing next to it, fidgeting uncomfortably. He’s in a suit, her favorite one of his, anxiously shifting from foot to foot.

“Illya?” Gaby asks, confused. “What are you doing?”

“I was hoping you would want to dance with me,” Illya replies simply.

“You hate dancing,” Gaby practically accuses.

“But you love it,” Illya smiles, and Gaby melts at the sight of his smile.

She sets down her purse and goes to stand in front of him, but he backs up a step, protesting, “Before we dance, I have something to ask.”

“Yes?” Gaby scowls at his caginess.

Illya is silent for a moment before he pulls one trembling hand out of his pocket, revealing a worn velvet box. He opens it, revealing a shining diamond ring, and says with a voice shaking like his hand, “Gaby, I love you, more than I have loved anyone. I have for years now. And if you would marry me, if you would be my partner in all your dances and in our lives, I would be happiest man alive.”

Gaby stares at him in shock, happy tears choking her ability to speak. She manages a nod and lets Illya slip the ring on her finger before kissing him like she’s never kissed him before.

The feeling of pure joy, of feeling like he’s flying, makes Illya wonder why he ever hesitated in the first place.


End file.
